Hey, Jacob, guess what? I've got boobs!
by Estelle Tiniwiel
Summary: Renesmee has come to a worrisome conclusion, and she doesn't know what to do about it. Can anyone help her, or is this something she'll have to sort out for herself?


**Disclaimer****: All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, I borrow them for fan purposes only, and promise to return them in close to working order, even if all the males are covered in lipstick.**

**Estelle Tiniwiel –x-**

_**Hey, Jacob, guess what? I've got boobs!**_

I could feel the anxiousness rising inside me, that squirming, rolling feel that reminded me of the time Emmett made me eat a worm for a dare.

How the hell was I going to tell him?

He had always been there for me, that I knew: there had never been one point in my life when I hadn't been able to glance to the side and see him standing there, black eyes shining in the sun as he grinned at me. He had always been _mine_.

And yet this pull was different. I had always needed him beside me, always wanted him there to play with, to bounce ideas off, to ask advice from, and to act as my scapegoat when Dad found the felled pine tree that was the casualty of me plus a motorcycle. I had always wanted him close and wanted his attention.

But now… now I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to know not only that he was there and that he was mine but that I was his back. I wanted him to take me in his arms and pull me close, so close that that force which was dragging us together would no longer be a force but a glowing ball of energy, with the two of us so closely intertwined that there was no need to pull anymore.

I wanted to tell him that I love him.

God, this is going to be impossible.

I mean, what's it going to sound like if I go up to him and essentially say that, oh, hi Jacob, I know that you were initially my babysitter and since then you've been nothing but the best friend that a girl could have, but now I just really, really want to have sex with you. Would you mind? _Not_ exactly what I'd call comfortable.

Firstly, of course, there's an ever bigger problem. The one that goes _"Renesmee Carlie Cullen, what the _hell_ are you thinking?! Get those pictures out of your head right now!"_. There is no way on Earth that I'm going to be able to keep this from Dad, at least not for long: I can't stop thinking about my werewolf. I can't even ask Mum to help by throwing up her shield whenever I'm around, because a) that would mean telling Mum, and b) Dad would get suspicious if whenever he came near me the mental world went blank.

Blast.

I sat there on the sofa, glad for once that my phenomenal growth rate had prevented me from going to school. Parents, aunts, and uncles were all bleaching their brains of any sense of interest by reciting algebra equations, Carlisle was up to his elbows in someone else's insides, and Esme was at her desk upstairs woven into a sticky web of criss-crossing blueprint lines. Peace. I tried to use it to clear the thick fog of thoughts fluffing up my mind.

Flip.

Flip.

My eyes followed the little silver phone blankly as it turned somersaults in front of me, coming to land neatly in my hand each time without my brain seemingly needing to connect.

Flip.

Flip.

Crash.

I gasped, the phone tumbling through my fumbling fingers and falling to dent the laminated floorboards as I noticed the snakeskin boots step quietly into my view.

Shit.

The other huge problem. At this point in time, maybe even bigger than Dad.

Jasper.

"Er, hi Uncle Jazz. How're things?" I queried, my voicing pitching slightly higher than usual.

"Hello, Renesmee. I am fine. But you're – "

"So, how come you're out of school early?" I shot out, desperate to keep his thoughts away from where they were quite clearly heading, playing upon that easy distraction common to all those of my uncle's kind.

Jasper screwed up his nose, his normally serene gaze becoming momentarily irritated, and his arms came to lock across his chest, his shoulders tightening and his forehead creasing as he frowned.

"There was a new girl in the classroom across the hall from us today, and when the teacher asked her to get up and introduce herself, she got so nervous it gave her a nose-bleed. I mean, I know we were across the hall and everything, and the door was shut, but still… the others dragged me out and then ordered me home."

I winced.

"Shit, Uncle Jasper, talk about tough luck."

"Yes, it was rather unfortunate. Is it me, or do the people in Cleveland manage to hurt themselves a lot more than the people in Forks? This is the third time in a week. Carlisle's had to tell the school that I have some form of epilepsy. Or possibly Tourettes, he mumbled rather a lot when he was telling me."

"And what did you say to him?"

Jasper frowned even more, his arms coming down to swing at his sides as he kicked moodily at the edge of the rug with his boot toe.

"I told him that I should just stay out of school. He looked concerned."

"Hmm."

And here came the problem, because emotions are one hell of a lot harder to lie with than thoughts. Would have I been able to get away with it had it been any other empath? Possibly. But Jasper had spent too many years strategising and trying to stay alive, and, unlike all of my other vampire relatives, Jasper had no problem whatsoever in focusing on more than one distraction at a time. He had noticed the vicissitudinous nature of my emotions as he spoke, with them shifting from nervous to relieved to anxious to afraid and back again, and he wasn't going to let it drop. As far as he was concerned, if something was unexplained then it was potentially dangerous, and he never let anything harmful come near his family if he could help it. He was going to grill me on it, and then there would be no turning back.

I knew all this, because his gaze had gone from one of irritation and self-contemplation to one of piercing exploration.

Damn it.

"Nessie, what's the matter?"

Here was the hard part: try not to be afraid, try to calm down, and try to _lie_.

"Oh, you know, nothing in particular."

"Anxiety. Self-hatred. _Guilt_" he threw back at me. "Why are you lying to me, Nessie?"

"I'm not lying, honestly!"

Jasper snorted, twisting his head away in frustration even as a truly amused light sparked to life in his eyes.

"Oh, yes, _honestly_, because, honestly, honesty feels like that," he quipped, smirking.

"Look, it's nothing major, I swear."

"I am not your father, Renesmee, I have no reason to submit to your cute puppy impression. Tell me the truth."

"You're right, Uncle Jasper! You're not my father, and therefore you can't tell me what to do."

I grinned.

At that Jasper frowned again, and I knew it was because with that momentary triumph of mine had come not only the sense of victory, but also of intense confusion and sadness. Sure, I didn't want them to know what my problem was, as I knew their reaction wouldn't be favourable, but I needed to tell _someone_. I don't know what to do; I mean, I'm seven years old, for crying out loud, I've had no experience of anything like this before! I tried to quash it, to hide the pain away, but I knew it was too late.

"Nessie," Jasper said, seating himself on the sofa opposite me and leaning forward as he spoke quietly to me, "I don't know what the matter is. I can only guess. But will you not tell me about it? Perhaps there's something I can do to make it better."

"That's not the kind of help I need, Jasper."

"I'm not just good as a chill pill, you know," he said, a slight smile quirking up the corners of his mouth, "I am actually capable of rational and compassionate conversation."

I sighed.

"I'm sorry, Jasper, it's just that… it's complicated and it'll make a mess of things if I tell people about it and I quite like things the way there are, thank you. I can cope with a little bit of emotional turmoil for that."

"But that's just the thing, Nessie, this family, or _things_, as you so eloquently put it, will not be the way it is now if you are not content." He slid off his seat and came to settle on the sofa next to me, slinging his arms gently around my shoulders. "Believe it or not, I'm not the only one that'll find life tricky if your 'emotional turmoil' continues. We're your family, we love you, and we're bound to notice if something's wrong."

"I know," I said, my voice tensing up as I tried to fight back tears, "It's just that… it's just that this is so different. It's _weird_, and… and I think I know what it is but it feels wrong, but at the same time it feels so _right_…"

He was scowling now, and I thought for one horrible moment that he was going to tell me to stop acting like a hormonal teenager and grow up, until I realised that it was the hormonal mess that was my body at that particular moment that he was having trouble tapping into. There was too much going on.

"Look, it's just… it's nothing, Uncle Jasper, just leave me alone."

And with that I got up from the white sofa and turned on my heel, but it would appear that in this situation, it was not the adolescent hybrid that was in control, but her battle-scarred uncle. Jasper caught my wrist as I turned and pulled me round in front of him so that I stood facing him on the pale rug. And then he stood up.

There was me, 5 foot 4 inches tall and willowy, and there was him, 6 foot three inches and made of nothing but lean muscle. Great.

"Nessie, this is something that's obviously troubling you, and which you're hiding from me. I'm guessing on that note that it's something you'll want to hide even more from your father, and possibly your mother, too, yes?"

"Yes," I mumbled, not wanting to look up at him.

He lifted my chin up and took a step forward, forcing me to crane my neck even further in order to meet those hard eyes.

"Well, then, I suggest you tell me now, because if you don't I won't be able to get the problem out of my head before your father comes home, and then he'll start questioning you. Tell me now and I won't have to worry, will I? I can hear what you have to say and hide it away."

I cringed away from him, not wanting to acknowledge that half of what he said was true (he was by far the best in the family at keeping secrets), and also wanting to regain a little of my personal space.

"You're lying through your teeth when you say you won't be able to get it out of your head," I grumbled.

"Yes."

His grip on my wrist tightened again minutely, emphasising the reality of his ultimatum. He would not let go.

I sighed and put my hands against his chest, pushing him back to the sofa and then plonking down beside him.

"It's… well, it's about Jacob," I said, and it was at that point that I knew I was going to truly lose. As soon as I mentioned his name out loud, images of my werewolf filled my head and my mind felt softer and floaty, but it carried behind it a vibrant highlight of lust.

"Ah."


End file.
